


just what you wanted to

by sugarboat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, M/M, Objectification, Predicament Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21526726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/pseuds/sugarboat
Summary: The world is over and Jon just isn't himself anymore.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 12
Kudos: 181





	just what you wanted to

There wasn’t any reason to think about how Jon got here. On his hands and knees, arms shivering with the strain of it and shoulders aching. Thinking at all, really, was the absolute opposite of what he was meant to do here. What he wanted to do here.

The immediate stressors his body provided were a very good excuse to not. Think. It was difficult to get anything coherent formed while his muscles quaked and trembled. It was pathetic, really. Jon had even scoffed, initially, at the idea that he might not be able to hold himself still. Assuming this would be an exercise in humiliation alone, as he settled himself before Elias’ seat and squared his shoulders, leveled out his spine and allowed a serving tray to be laid across it.

Idiot, he, who had decided he wanted a challenge, and ignored all warning signs that he was getting much more than he knew he was asking for. Allowed Elias to draw him close with that smug, rankling expression Jon supposed he had earned, having ended the world and all. He let Elias clamp things onto his nipples, mean snaps of metal that burned white hot and then throbbed, he let Elias stroke his cock to stiffness and wrap choke-slips around the head and base of it, around his sac and testes. He let Elias string a chain between the two aching points of pain and heat on his chest down to his prick and then – Christ, and then – Jon had asked him for less slack. Because he’d wanted to feel this.

Well. He supposed he’d gotten what he wanted, at least.

Jon couldn’t keep himself from quavering, couldn’t will his muscles to stillness. The few dishes Elias had stacked on the platter clattered incessantly, as if Jon needed the auditory reminder that he was failing at this particular enterprise. He couldn’t calm his breathing, couldn’t convince himself to take more than shallow, ragged inhalations – movement pulled at those chains, tightened everything to a vice. He couldn’t find the quiet he used to cultivate with Daisy.

He pictured her, suddenly, as she’d been. In his office, sharing his space. Sitting too close. Their air had mingled as they tried to overlap their breathing, in and out. Daisy would close her eyes. Jon would keep his open. Between them, knees touching, they’d linked their hands every now and then.

Jon captured it for a moment. He took a slow, deep breath, breathing into the spikes of discomfort expanding his chest ignited. Into the tight soreness of his muscles, the rabbit quick stutter of his heartbeat. He’d gotten it. He could do this. The exhale was a relief, loosening slack, but he kept it measured and even. Stillness, and quiet.

Another long inhale, the kind he used to take with a cigarette held between his lips. Before all of this, when the worst stress he had to go through was obsession over his dissertation. He wondered how Georgie was, now. If she knew what he’d done-

Elias lifted his glass off the platter and Jon felt his body jolt in panic. He jerked, hissing at the sharp tug of the chain, slinking in a tight squeeze around his cock and pulling at it. Forced to bring himself back to equilibrium, adjust to the subtle balance change as the weight on the tray shifted.

“Very nice, Jon,” Elias said, another ripple of dissonance for Jon to contend with.

Elias’ words, his tone – it all shivered through him, warm and curling down his spine and in his stomach. If Jon stretched himself he could practically feel Elias’ satisfaction layer over him, sink bone deep inside of him. Marking him as deeply as fear had, welcomed as thoroughly as Jon had welcomed all of it.

A sharp throb, as Elias leaned forward to snatch a length of the chain between his fingers, tugging against the clamp on Jon’s chest.

“Now, now.” Chiding, while Elias teased and plucked at his skin, reduced Jon to the sensation of his flesh. “You were doing so well.”

Jon would like to say something snide in response, but the breath was stolen from him the moment he opened his mouth. Elias pinched one of the clamps open and off of his nipple, and the rush of blood to the tender area _hurt_ , a rising tone timed to the suddenly frantic thudding of his heart. It was all Jon could do to ride this wave out, hearing himself give a pathetic and ragged whimper as if from a distance.

“Breathe,” Elias told him. There was a hand in his hair, pulling to keep his spine arched. Fingers brushing light and gentle across his nipple, again and again, each touch a sharp-edged jolt Jon struggled not to flinch away from.

“Or don’t,” Elias amended, as if a thought had only then occurred. As his fingers tightened and nipped and twisted at Jon’s sore flesh. “It isn’t as though you’d die.”

Like a joke. The anger, too, that threatened to choke Jon from the inside was quickly knocked loose. Elias eased off him for just a moment, just long enough to snap the clamp back onto his chest.

“You’re shaking.”

A statement. An observation. One that was hardly necessary, not a secret revealed or unwanted knowledge gained. Jon clenched his jaw shut and closed his eyes, tried to breathe again while it felt like the left side of his chest was on fire.

“You can hold out just a bit longer, can’t you?” Elias asked. He stroked a hand over Jon’s flank, from his ribs to hip and along his thigh. “For me?”

Jon let out a shuddering laugh. Hadn’t he done enough for Elias? Done everything he wanted, every step of the way, and now Jon could feel the scourge of the Eye flaying him open every moment, every second, and now Jon couldn’t deny the way part of him exalted beneath that excoriation. That couldn’t stop salivating at the prey surrounding him, because every person on every street had something for him now, something for him to sink his teeth into and pull and tear and rip and swallow down whole.

“You’re perfect,” Elias said, and wrapped a hand around his bound and weeping cock.

Jon’s hips bucked forward of their own accord, halted when the serving tray threatened to tip off his back. It took conscious effort to keep himself still, to keep himself upright, as Elias made a loose fist around his length. Jacked him, slow and steady, fingers plucking at the cords binding him tight. The touch painfully light, drawing all his attention to these points of contact, how hot his flesh felt against Elias’ slender fingers, how he could feel his pulse throbbing all through the length of his cock, how the ties around the base and crown of it accentuated that pulsing.

“Please,” Jon managed, “Elias, please.”

“You’re nearly there.” Elias kept his tone so cool and controlled, the same as the pace of his hand. “I know you won’t disappoint me now.”

“N-No, I-” Jon wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.

It was too much, his muscles tightening while he dug his fingers into the thick rug, forced himself steady. Still. Quiet, even as the air shuddered in and out of him and he whined on every exhale. Elias’ hand – and more than that, his regard, his attention, the weight of everything between them; Elias stood out in this ruined world like a brand, a piece of the Eye itself, a bright pull Jon couldn’t hope to stay away from, a dark depth in which Jon couldn’t help but want to drown himself – dragging him closer and closer to orgasm.

“Come on,” Elias said, pinched cruelly at the head of his cock, “Come for me, Archivist.”

Christ, that was it, finally tipping Jon over the edge, panting and shaking with exertion as Elias pulled his cock downwards and pumped him through his orgasm. Stroking and squeezing in time to each pulse of come, like he was milking it out of him. There was something cool and smooth nudged up near the tip of his cock but Jon could hardly make sense of it, awash in the tide of relief, the lap of Elias’ own pleasure cresting at the edges of his mind.

“Beautiful,” Elias said. His hand kept moving. Determined to wring Jon dry, to take everything of him and empty him out. “You’re so lovely like this, right where you belong.”

At Elias’ feet. Beneath Elias’ hands. Molded into something awful and terrible, to serve something awful and terrible in kind.

At some point the platter had unbalanced, tipped off of Jon’s back to the side. He kept himself in place regardless. Swallowed down whatever he wanted to say as Elias finally stopped touching him.

Elias moved, came around to crouch down in front of him. He pet a hand through Jon’s hair, stopping to cup at the nape of his neck.

“It was a commendable effort, Jon.” The rim of a glass was pressed against Jon’s mouth, strangely warm. “But, I suppose there should be some form of correction for failure, don’t you agree?”

“I- I suppose,” Jon echoed, thoughts still sluggishly rearranging themselves to the situation at hand. Elias smiled, sharp and pleased, and it felt good to have earned that directed towards himself, felt discomforting in equal measures.

“Excellent. Drink up.”

Elias tipped the glass for him, fingers clamped at the back of Jon’s neck still to hold him steady. Jon opened his mouth and grimaced. The salt and brine astringency of his own come fed back to him, mixed oddly with the remnants of Elias’ wine. The two combined into a truly awful sensory experience, thickly coating his tongue and mouth in bitterness as he swallowed.

“You can relax now,” Elias said, and as if Jon had been held by command alone his elbows buckled. The chains pulled taut and painful when he dropped his chest to the ground, spine arched with his hips and ass still in the air, but the sheer relief of his aching muscles drowned out everything else.

“Stay just like that, I think.”

Jon made a sound of annoyance. A sound of indignity as he heard Elias settle back into his chair, and felt the heels of Elias’ feet kick up to rest on the dip of his spine. Another humiliation, that he allowed it to happen at all, didn’t fight it as he drank in the pleasure of allowing his arms to be lax, his shoulders limp against the ground.

Later. Later he would-

“My Archivist.”

Jon shuddered, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

Yes. Later.


End file.
